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By M. J. Brown 
There’s a little desert town in the 
| Western part of New Mexico—just 
on the Arizona line. 
I don’t know why it is a town or 
i why it is there. There does not seem 
to be any good reason for it—it just 
happened. 
_ ‘iring of the monotony of the ride, 
_and having one of those handy combi- 
‘nation tickets that permits the pas- 
-senger to lay over at Santa Fe pie 
| enter: I quit the train at two a. m., 
and got off at Gallop, N. Mex. 
| There was a little dump of a hotel, 
with tall prices, and it was the only 
thing in my line that was open at that 
hour of the morning. It was on the 
‘second floor. I went up stairs and 
hunted for accommodations. I founda 
negro, with long black hair, asleep on 
sacouch. I told him I wanted a place 
to take my shoes off. He gave me his 
place, and added a Navajo blanket, 
off the floor. He saw I was a stran- 
‘ger. 
_ The house was full, not a room that 
hadn’t two in a bed, he told me. I laid 
.down on the bunk and waited for day- 
‘light. I couldn’t sleep, and daylight 
didn’t seem to get on the job. There 
Was noise to the right of me, noise to 
the left of me—and noise in under 
me. To the right and to the left it 
‘wasa medley of snoring and bad 
{dream noises. Under me was a hum 
—a noise that I couldn’t guess. Af- 
ter trying to sleep I pulled on my 
shoes and went down. 
__ As I studied the towns on the Santa 
Fe folder, and picked out one that I 
thought was big enough for a shave 
jand a bath, Gallup, N. M., looked 
good. As the train rolled over the 
‘desert in the afternoon, I speculated 
why this place should have been nam- 
‘ed Gallup. When I went down into 
the saloon under the hotel that night 
‘I did not wonder. 
| The meaning of the word is “go 
some,’ and I found the cow town was 
‘tangled up with a name that was no 
_ misnomer. 
| There was a bar that went across 
| 
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Some Little-Travelled Spots in New 
Mexico 
|| First Class Groceries and Kitchen 
| Furnishings 
pp, 8s. Lycett Magnolia Avenue, Magnolia 
IL 
NORDHe SHORE, BREEZE 
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(Opi rere) Y 
for this paper Yj 
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the side of the big room, and there 
were five round tables, some green 
and some white. Around them, jam- 
med in so close the men could only get 
their arms in front, were gamblers, 
betting their heads off. 
There was every kind of a game a 
man wanted there—the ‘‘open game.” 
It was like a cafeteria where one 
took his tray and got in line. When 
he saw what he thought he wanted 
he loaded up. 
For three hours I watched these 
tired-faced, pale-faced men. Only one 
out of twenty was drinking, and the 
one was a fellow who had come in 
from the ranch. He was easy pick- 
ing. Of the fifty men around these 
tables, probably 48 of them were 
gamblers—soldiers of fortune who 
had come out to Gallup because it was 
a “wide open” town and because they 
thought the “wide open route” would 
bring in plenty of suckers. 
The “suckers” are early weeded out 
and then these gamblers go after each 
other. 
And they don’t know what they 
are up against. At one of the tables 
will be a man who hasn’t seen a razor 
for two weeks. He watches the game 
as if it was the first time he ever saw 
one. His under jaw drops down and 
he stares at the lights. Probably not 
a man around the table know what 
he is. He loses a few hands, and all 
his ready cash. Then he talks with 
the bar tender, and this sport of the 
mahogany tells the fellows his “I. O. 
We will bewicasheds for) ar certain 
amount. The bunch think he is a 
ranger and he has “fixed” his credit 
with the barkeep, When the pale light 
of morning breaks up the games, then 
these gamblers realize what they have 
been up against, and that the fellow 
from the “sticks” who sat there all 
night without winning or losing but 
a few dollars, was simply the partner 
for the man across the table, and who 
has been helping the “fancy fellow” 
to get away with the kale. 
Next afternoon I went to negotiat- 
Telephone 63-2 
23 
ing for a rig, auto, or some convey- 
ance to take me to the cliff ruins. 
The first place I went into I saw 
I was up against the same tight com- 
bination that dealt the faro layout the 
night before. They had seen me com- 
ing. It would cost me about one 
hundred dollars to make the cliff 
ruins and $20 a day for the time the 
auto laid still, waiting for me. 
I went to the next place. Same 
rates. It would seem that every man 
in the town who had a mule or a 
Ford had figured out a schedule of 
tourist rates and there was only one 
standard of prices to separate a man 
from his money. 
And when I was debating whether 
or not to stand for the touch, a rain 
came on. It does not often rain in 
Gallup, N. M., and when it does it 
rains at the time when it doesn’t do 
anybody good—after it is too late 
to make a crop look like anything. 
The rain gave me time. No use 
trying to go to or get back from any- 
where in this country when it rains. 
I gave it up. So did the Ford combi- 
nation. Then I went out and hunted 
the fellow who was not in the 
Squeeze, the fellow who had a car 
with the ninth payment due,—and 
past one. 
He and I made a deal, and tomor- 
row I am simply going to pay him 
fifty per cent interest on his invest- 
ment, pay him $5 per day as driver, 
take along his son, and then if I have 
any change left, come home. 
But it’s a great trip—one of the 
most wonderful in the United States 
—and I have seen the thickest of 
them. Way out there in the Navajo 
Country lies a ruin that few white 
men have ever seen—the ruin of cliffs 
that were once a Broadway—where 
thousands of people lived, and you 
and I don’t knew enough of them to 
stuff a pipe. We don’t know’ what 
they lived for, when they lived or 
much about it. 
Just after the break of day, today 
Gallup came alive and started some- 
thing. The high elevation would not 
let me sleep so I was up at the start- 
ing. It was a 377 mile auto race, to 
Winslow. Men betting their heads 
off on a turn of the road. Not what 
we would consider sports. The bet- 
ters were gambling on _ results. It 
didn’t matter whether the car was a 
Ford of a Buick. They picked a 
driver they thought would get there 
and get back and they picked him for 
every cent they had or could raise. 
Innocent of the municipal excite- 
ment, I walked down the street in the 
morning. “Give you the field against 
Cotton,” exclaimed a dry goods man, 
(Continued to next page.) 
